The Runaway Series
by PuppyDogJou
Summary: A collection of one-shots based off a similar theme: Running Away. Rating various to each chapter. Shassie   Lassiter x Shawn


**The Runaway Series  
>By PuppyDogJou<strong>

A collection of one-shots based off the theme: Running Away.  
>Each one-shot is based off the theme and a song.<strong><br>**  
><strong>Rating:<strong> For the moment T for Teen.

**Pairing:** Shassie [ Lassiter x Shawn ] So if homosexual relationships bother you, please don't read. 

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><p><strong>Post Cards From Far Away - Coldplay<br>**

Paperwork.

It seemed to be the point of his entire life for the past few days. While it was his first 'official' day as chief, the days leading up to his actual ceremony into chiefhood were filled with promotional paperwork: acquisitions, release forms, something about him no longer required to carry a gun everyday – that was quickly laughed off. Long story short, Carlton Lassiter was developing a strong hatred for paperwork. While he understood its usefulness, he had never quite seen the point. Police had better things to do with their time then to fill out documents, sign papers, or do taxes. He was a hard worker in upholding their fine government's justice system; you'd think the state could provide someone to do their paperwork. Less paperwork for them meant they could catch more bad guys.

Carlton was quickly coming to the realization that all the chief did was file paperwork. Lassiter always knew he would be running the precinct one day, if you asked him he'd say he'd been running the place long before he was made chief. But as his strong baby-blues slid up another large pile of files, he had to admit, he missed being Head Detective. He missed the action. He missed Vick sitting in the office he was currently occupying – she had been a good leader. He missed his partner O'Hara – he might go as far as missing the girly, touchy-feely approach to everything. Hell, he even missed Spencer; a thought that caused all the muscles in the tall man to tense, and the hairs on the back of his neck to stick up.

It'd happened after a particularly rough case. A young girl turned up dead, then another. The messages started after the third body, they made fun of the SBPD, and put forth the challenge – clues – to find him before he killed again. As usual, Spencer did his own thing, and while Lassiter and Juliet were following a lead about a retired embassy worker, Carlton had gotten a text from the overly annoying 'psychic':

_'321 Warsaw Drive.  
>Warehouse 46.<br>Hurry! He's here.'_

While already knowing it was too late, Lassiter still sent a reply telling the idiotic consultant to stay out of it and wait for them.

They got there twenty-four minutes later. Shawn of course already inside, alone apparently as Guster's blue wimp of a car wasn't there. He fully expected Shawn to have been killed, or at least shot. And while Carlton would never admit to it, he remembered the sinking feeling in his chest; the slight panic at the thought of their main consultant laying on the ground somewhere bleeding to death.

Needless to say, Shawn and their main suspect standing there talking was a surprising one. There wasn't even a gun! Lassiter didn't hear what the man and Shawn were talking about, but based on the guy's sickeningly twisted grin of pleasure, Lassiter guessed they had come at just the right time. Their guy proceeded to confess to everything. As he was cuffed and led to the car, Carlton did catch the line he leered at Shawn, "You have me for my crime, but remember Shawn. I've got you for yours." If he hadn't known Spencer better, the Head Detective might have thought whatever their perp was going on about had actually gotten to the light hearted psychic. However, Lassiter knew better. Shawn was too carefree to let something get to him.

Shawn was gone three days later. No words. No warnings. Not even Gus knew what had happened or where his best friend was. Lassiter had heard Henry ranting to himself in the hall one day about it being 'typical irresponsible Shawn.'

A few months or so later, a charge from internal affairs came, asking questions about the alleged Psychic. If there was an ongoing investigation, the case was dropped. With no evidence that Shawn was a fake, and the lack of Spencer himself, proved to be an unsolvable mystery. It was somewhere in there that he'd been promoted, Vick having submitted her retirement and recommendation for Lassiter to succeed her.

Which brought him to today. Time had gone by so quickly; having been far too busy transitioning into his new position to even think about Spencer, or how he actually missed the idiot's antics. He had mounds of paperwork to do, a press interview, meeting with the district attorney, and – the door to his office opened, "Got another congratulation gift for ya, Chief!" – he might be able to get some of it done if people didn't keep coming in here and interrupting his tedious work with stupid "congratulations!" cards.

"Just put it on the table, and get out." Lassiter growled without looking up from his current file."

"Right-O, Chief-O!" The officer set the gift on the table, pausing for a moment. "Difficult transition?"

While he knew the officer was walking a fine line close to over stepping his bounds, Carlton found himself not caring; a part of him fully ready to release the pent up frustration he was dealing with. "Yeah. You could say it's been a bit of a pain in my ass." It was his turn to pause turning a page, "But even Sweet Lady Justice calls for important paperwork."

He could practically hear the smile that spread across the overly happy officer. "Yeah! That's the spirit." The door opened, and the officer made to leave, pausing again when he was half out the door. "You're doing a great job, Lassie."

"Thanks, Spencer." It had flowed so smoothly off his tongue he almost hadn't caught it. Sharp blue eyes darted up just in time to see the door close and a cop walk towards the door, his head held low and hat firmly pulled down in order to hide his face.

Surely he'd just made a mistake. One look at the pineapple on his desk told him he hadn't. Before he knew what he was doing, Carlton was making a mad dash out of his office, down the stairs of the station, across the sidewalk to the street, and out into a sea full of faces, half of which were dressed in cop uniforms. To say it would be near impossible to find Spencer was an understatement.

"You Lassie?"

Lassiter turned to see a little kid, staring up at him. "I'm Chief Carlton Lassiter, yes."

The kid shrugged, "Close enough." He held out a card. "The guy with the cool motorcycle told me to give this to you."

Lassiter took the card, looking over at the rider less bike before opening the card:

_'Congratulations on the big promotion!  
>No one deserves it more than you do, Lassie.<em>

H & K's  
>~ S'<p>

There was a pineapple drawn around the 'S.'

Carlton couldn't help the small smile. He'd gotten a similar note from Spencer before. He looked up, seeing a helmeted man on the bike. The man gave a timid wave, Lassiter holding himself taller before giving the man a small nod – and tried his hardest to hold back the small smile that wanted to creep out at the sight of Spencer.

Shawn started the bike. Whatever the reasoning, he had his reasons not to return to Santa Barbara. Fake or not. Wrong or not. Criminal or not. Lassiter had to admit, it was good to know Spencer was at least alive.

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><p><em>Well, I wasn't going to open with this story, but it's the one I finished first. I already have MANY more planned... the problem is writing them. x3 Stupid college! haha <em>  
><em>Anyway, let me know what you think. No real Shassie in this story. There will be in later 'episodes' I promise~ Please review.<em>

_~PDJ_


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